


Amended

by mansikka



Series: Making Amends [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Tries, Difficult Decisions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Getting to Know Each Other, Human Castiel, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Nervous Castiel, Nervous Dean, Normal Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean might have rehearsed a thousand things that he wanted to say on the drive over to Cas'. He might have, a couple of times, let his imagination wonder what Cas' reaction might be to him trying to give him a hug; even just one in greeting.</p><p>The Cas he had met with a couple of months ago had somewhat thawed over the course of their conversations, but Dean knew he'd be wrong to make assumptions of any kind. Especially ones that went beyond friends getting to know each other again after a huge, huge fallout that was all his doing.</p><p>He'd spent years fighting with himself over what he wanted from Cas; both what his honest self wanted, and what his presented self thought he had to be.</p><p>He'd pushed Cas, commenting when he was too close, dismissing other people's commenting, and spinning himself a tale where Dean was merely imagining any lingering looks or weighted words Cas had sent in his direction.</p><p>And then it had got too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amended

Dean might have rehearsed a thousand things that he wanted to say on the drive over to Cas'. He might have, a couple of times, let his imagination wonder what Cas' reaction might be to him trying to give him a hug; even just one in greeting.

The Cas he had met with a couple of months ago had somewhat thawed over the course of their conversations, but Dean knew he'd be wrong to make assumptions of any kind. Especially ones that went beyond friends getting to know each other again after a huge, huge fallout that was all his doing.

He'd spent years fighting with himself over what he wanted from Cas; both what his honest self wanted, and what his presented self thought he had to be.

He'd pushed Cas, commenting when he was too close, dismissing other people's commenting, and spinning himself a tale where Dean was merely imagining any lingering looks or weighted words Cas had sent in his direction.

And then it had got too much.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he'd decided to bring an end to this tiring, pointless charade. But one day he'd woken, and found his mind clear of any doubts.

He still held on to his one, shining moment of acting impulsively on what he really wanted. He could recall, with perfect clarity, every second of the time that he'd pressed Cas up against the Impala, and how right it had felt. “We're gonna talk about this, Cas,” he'd said, staring at him in promise. “This thing. Us.”

And he'd meant it. Every word.

And then. He'd pushed him away.

Dean had clenched hard at the steering wheel in memory. More than once.

But now, he was here.

As he walked the flights of stairs up to Cas' apartment, his legs felt leaden, and time did its trick of both speeding up and slowing down. His bag weighed him down too, and he bounced it on his shoulder all the way up the stairs.

Cas opened the door and smiled him cautiously in, turning to lean back against it.

Cas looked so good. _So_ good. It really was unfair of him, Dean thought; how was he supposed to get this right, to not screw things up, when Cas stood there looking like he did?

Dean had come a long way in his own thinking about how he felt about Cas. Initially, back in the times _before_ , every time he caught himself looking, and he meant, _really_ looking at Cas, Dean was flooded with a mixture of anger and self-disgust. He knew it was a leftover, knee jerk reflex of the somewhat male-centric world that was hunting. He also knew he didn't have to give a damn that his sexuality wasn't the arrow-straight kind that fit in nicely with what was _expected_. But it was still overwhelming to have to come to terms with this new kind of _want_ that he'd never experienced before.

As time had gone on, and looking had been joined by idle fantasizing and progressed as far as waking sweaty from lust-filled dreams, Dean had started to care less what other people might think and more about maybe giving in.

But then he'd messed up, right at the point when he especially needed not to, and just because he could now be honest with himself about how much he wanted Cas, did not mean Cas was ready to hear it from him.  

So Dean strained to keep his eyes from roaming all over Cas. He was not here for that, and this was too important for even the slightest of slips. Cas' pace, he reminded himself. Whatever Cas needed.

“Did you have a good drive?” Cas finally managed, where Dean could not find it in him to begin.

“Sure. Pretty straightforward. You gave good directions for this place,” he added with a small smile.

“Do you want to look around?”

“Sure,” Dean repeated, still standing rigidly.

“There's not much to see,” Cas admitted, waving Dean forward to follow him. He pointed out the obvious first: the living area, the small desk next to a long window, and the kitchen area. There were a couple of prints on the wall that were Tolkien-esque, and a few small touches that were so very _Cas_. It was simple. It was exactly as it should be. Dean saw a home, and that made him ache, as much as it made him happy for Cas.

Cas nodded his head towards a doorway, and Dean followed him into the bedroom, sparsely decorated with a decent-sized bed, a chair, and a couple of closets. The final stop was the shower room, and for the first time, Dean's smile was natural.

“You weren't kidding when you said it was small,” he said, admiring the way the room was put together to maximise the smallest of spaces. “Works though.” The floor sloped to a single drain in the centre, and the shower occupied a corner, the sink and toilet on the opposite wall.

“It does,” Cas agreed, “Although I am sure Sam would struggle with the showerhead.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed, looking over at it. “he does in most places.”

When they walked back to the living room, Dean unzipped the holdall that he'd left on the couch, and pulled out a tall gift bag, as well as a promised jar of honey, pushing both hands out to present them to Cas.

Cas hesitated in his movements, a little unsure of himself, but accepted Dean's offerings nonetheless.

“It's traditional, before you complain,” Dean defended, “For housewarming,”

Cas tucked the honey into the crook of his arm, drew out a bottle of whiskey from the bag, and smiled in thanks.

“Would you like some now?” he offered, turning away and walking towards the kitchen. “Or something else to drink?”

Dean shook his head. “Maybe when we don't need to go out again.”

“The grocery store is in walking distance,” Cas responded with over his shoulder, and Dean soon found himself with a tumbler pressed into his hand. He clinked his glass against Cas', not breaking eye contact, unable to form any congratulations for housewarming that didn't stick sharply in his throat.

***

The short walk to the store was somewhat difficult for Dean, watching Cas as he nodded and waved greetings to people who he clearly lived amongst and knew well enough for friendly hellos and brief exchanges. His community. His _home_ , Dean thought, torturing himself once again.

Cas was not oblivious to the way Dean's shoulders dropped a fraction with every person they met. He felt a mixture of pride that Dean could now see for himself what he had here, and if he was truthful, grim satisfaction in the way it clearly affected him.

He also longed to offer him some sort of comfort, but really: what could he say?

Grocery shopping served as something to help break a little more of the ice, with gentle teasing over product choices, and mild arguing over who would pay for what.

But they found themselves back within the somewhat uncomfortable confines of Cas' apartment far too soon for either of them, and an awkward tension filled the space between them once again.

Dean's eyes kept drifting around the room, taking in all of the little things that made up Cas' home. Cas scrambled desperately for something to say, but every sentence he started sounded wrong to his own ears, and those that didn't just drifted away from him unfinished. Cas berated himself repeatedly.

But Cas had spent enough time with the Winchesters to know that uncomfortable silences were best filled with drink.

A half of the bottle of whiskey was gone before either of them were even close to comfortable again.

***

It turned out they were a good team when it came to cooking. They worked contentedly enough side by side, Cas even dancing a little to the music he'd streamed from his laptop and through a speaker system Dean eyed with no small amount of envy. Cas wasn't even bashful under Dean's wide-eyed stare as he danced; this was his home, he told himself, turning the music up a little, and he could, and would, do just as he pleased. And also thanked the whiskey for giving him much-needed courage.

Dinner was delicious, and it gave them a focus, a basis around which to talk. The atmosphere had lightened somewhat, with the subjects kept easy, and relatively neutral.

But it still all felt like they were treading water, and going through the motions, building up to something else. Which was difficult. Especially as it still felt too soon to talk, and the _something else_ remained ambiguous.

The art of avoidance was another skill that Cas had learned from the Winchesters.

“Let's go out,” he said suddenly, springing up from the dining room table and ignoring the look on Dean's face as he passed him his jacket. They hadn't made it over to the more comfortable couch yet, as it still felt to both of them a little too familiar.

Cas buttoned up his jacket as quickly as possible and spun on his heel, patting down his pockets to check for keys, phone and wallet before pulling the door open and stepping out of the apartment. Dean followed him out without comment, his expression carefully revealing nothing.

Dean _had_ said he was interested in seeing the bar, Cas reasoned, as he did his tour guide spiel on the way there. He pointed out his favourite places, determined to prove to Dean... and then even his inner voice gave up on him.

What were they doing? What was it that he wanted to prove to Dean? That he was better off without him? That there was no real room in his life for him any more?

Cas continued to sneak glances at Dean all the way to the bar, rushing forward when they eventually reached it and ushering Dean inside.

He ordered their first drinks before they even found a table.

***

Dean kept up a steady stream of idle chit chat, responding to Cas' questions, and those of his friends that he was introduced to over the course of the evening. Cas had been right that he'd like the bar, and it gave him something else to talk about in an attempt to keep the conversation light.

It was good, seeing Cas so well fit in to what was his own environment. Cas looked more self assured now than Dean had ever remembered seeing him, and that realisation sparked the continuation of conflicting thoughts raging through his mind.

He wanted Cas to be happy, knowing how much he deserved it, how he'd earned it. His heart surged with affection, and pride, and a lot of other things as he watched Cas laughing and joking with people who clearly cared about him. It also made him hurt, a deep, slow burning hurt that just taunted him with reminders of how this new version of Cas had come to be. And how Dean wasn't part of this existence.

It was all so hard to take in, and accept. Dean found that he couldn't.

***

Cas did his own amount of wondering too. It gave him such mixed feelings watching the way Dean interacted with his friends. Envy at how easy Dean was with people without him even realising it. Relief that, at least for now, that awful, awkward tension was gone. And confusion about the way Dean just seemed to be a perfect fit there amongst them all.

He couldn't pretend that it didn't feel good having Dean there with him, despite the way their time together so far had lurched painfully between easy one moment and excruciatingly difficult the next. But that just threw out a lot more questions that he didn't exactly have the strength to find answers to.

Instead, they watched. They watched each other watch, shy smiles and uncomplicated words within the safety net of other people and other distractions.

All in all, it was a pleasant, carefree evening. Good company, really good food, and simple interactions.

So why, when they returned to the apartment much, much later, did they both lay awake in the dark, staring at their separate spots of ceiling?

***

Cas managed to sneak out of the apartment early in the morning without waking Dean. He thought his usual routine of running would settle him, give him chance to clear his head and organise his thoughts.

It was like they were performing a dance together, with both of them doing a completely different dance, yet trying to still make it somehow sync. If he felt infuriated with himself, he could only imagine what Dean must be feeling. And Dean was trying, not that he himself wasn't, but...

Cas groaned to himself, picking up the pace, promising himself he would make more of an effort.

There were no expectations here, he told himself. They hadn't agreed to anything. No script to follow, no _let's see what happens_ , no promises that would or wouldn't be broken. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Cas plastered what felt as natural a smile as possible on his face as he walked back through the door, slightly breathless from his running. Dean stood with his back to him at the kitchen counter, and Cas' eyes quickly travelled over his body, snapping them away the second Dean spun round.

“Morning, Cas. Good run?” he asked easily, giving a small wave.

He nodded as he walked towards him, reaching over to pour a glass of water. “I assumed you wouldn't want to join me?”

“You know me, Cas. Never run unless I'm being chased.”

Cas laughed softly. “I know. I remember. Myself, I find it relaxing.”

Dean found his eyes drifting to take in Cas' appearance, and forced himself not to let his mouth hang open. Cas wore shorts; of course he did, and he wasn't doing it for any other intention than to go running.  But the way they looked made Dean's mouth dry arid, and as for the fit of his t-shirt...

Dean dragged his eyes up to meet Cas', and he sucked in a rattling breath. “Yeah, Cas. You look real... relaxed...” he finished weakly, but luckily Cas didn't react other than to smile.

“I look in need of a shower.”

“Want me to start breakfast? I was about to make coffee but I can wait for you to finish?”

Cas walked forward again and opened up a cupboard. “There is cereal, bread, fruit. Please help yourself. I won't be long.”

Dean waited until he heard the shower start up and then slumped back against the kitchen counter, pressing a hand over his mouth.

When he'd woken and realised Cas wasn't there, he'd allowed out a small breath of relief. A sleepless night after an evening where he hadn't really been able to decide if things were okay, not okay, or some strange landscape in between had left him listless.

He'd laid there, going over every word between them, imagining how long Cas would run for, wondering what they'd do with the day stretched out in front of them.

Was there always going to be this weird out of sequence feel between them from now on? Was he wrong to have wanted so badly to try and fix things?

Was Cas right to not have wanted him to come in the first place?

Dean made himself busy with coffee making to put those thoughts far from his mind, when he heard Cas padding through behind him. Despite half-trying not to look, Dean caught a glimpse of him as Cas clicked his bedroom door closed and almost dropped the cup in his hand at the sight of skin, and towel, and nothing else. Dean cursed, low, under his breath, tightly gripping on to the cup.

When Cas came back through to the kitchen, Dean forced a mouthful of cereal in, keeping his eyes determinedly elsewhere until he could trust himself.

“What would you like to do today, Dean?”

Dean sensed a change in Cas, and looked up, cautiously. Cas gave him a small, hopeful smile, and Dean took it like a gift. “What do you normally do on Saturdays?”

“I don't really have a set routine. If I take a project that requires me to work, then I work. If not,” he shrugged. “Whatever I feel like doing.”

“Do you have any work you need to do?”

Cas shook his head. “I kept my schedule clear.” _For you_ , he didn't need to add.

Dean's heart thumped with gratitude. “So what do you feel like?”

Cas tilted his head in thought. “If I were alone today, I might go to the market. I might walk. I might...” and his gaze went to the window, “make a sandwich and take my book to read in the park.”

“My life is very simple here, Dean,” he finished with, a moment later, when Dean didn’t answer immediately. It sounded very much like an apology.

“That isn't a bad thing, Cas. You seem like you're doing okay.”

“I am.”

“I'm proud of you.” Dean felt the words escape before he had chance to rein them in, but the pleased look he got from Cas in response took an edge off panic that he'd felt about how they'd be received.

“How'd you feel about a picnic?”

Cas paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “A picnic?”

“Yeah,” Dean enthused, warming to his own idea. “We could make some sandwiches like you said.  I could... borrow a book. Or buy a book. See this bookstore you keep talking about. How about it?”

Cas nodded once, slowly, as though he were really thinking it over very thoroughly. “I suggest we buy food from the market.” He finally decided. “Some sliced meat, perhaps some fruit. There is an excellent bakery stall I often buy bread from. Perhaps you will find some pie...”

Dean clapped his hands together. “Sold.”

***

The picnic had really turned out to be a good idea.

Dean found ham, bread, a really good chutney, and of course, pie in the market, and idly strolled through in search of Cas, who'd wandered off. He found him chatting with a stall holder, bartering over the price of a picnic blanket. There was a bag down by his side that he kept just out of Dean's view, and when they arrived at the park and chose a spot to sit in, Cas gleefully revealed a bright red frisbee.

They spent a happy hour throwing it back and forth, trying to outdo each other and laughing helplessly when either one of them stumbled, or jumped awkwardly to catch it. They worked up such an appetite that they ate their way through every last one of Dean's purchases, before slumping back against the blanket and chugging down the bottles of water Cas had the foresight to bring from home.

The silence continued amiably when they read their books, occasionally interrupting each other to ask a question, or comment on what they were reading.

It was an almost perfect afternoon.

Almost, because of course there was a constant tirade of thoughts running through each of their minds. Ranging from embarrassment at quick glances of exposed skin when shirts rode up, to over-analysis of many of their words, both before they were said and whilst they were saying them.

But it was still the most relaxed they had been for a long, long time, and they both revelled in that.

***

Dean accepted a beer from Cas as he slumped down beside him on the couch. Today had been surprisingly good after what had felt like an incredibly strained start the evening before, and Dean felt relief that they had, at last, become a little more natural in each other's company.

But the looming idea of him leaving tomorrow would not allow him to relax entirely, and underpinned his every thought.

There was a continual flux of wondering about things like friendship, more than friendship, what they were, and what they would be. Or might be, if either of them would allow it.

It was a constant white noise filling any moments of silence between them, and there were still plenty of those.

Dean turned slightly on the couch, finding himself to be mirroring Cas. He studied him carefully, and decided that Cas really did look okay. Happy.

Cas had filled his life. He had made good choices, built up a world around him where he fit perfectly, and from all Dean could see, was succeeding in living a better life than he had ever dared imagine for him.

There was a horrible dawning sensation that hit Dean hard: Cas really did have no real need for him to be a part of his life, not any more. The last day Cas had needed him was so very long ago, that it felt tainted by false memories of Dean ever being of use to him at all.

It made him miss Cas so desperately that it was like he wasn't even there with him at the other end of the couch. And Dean, oh how Dean wanted to be part of Cas' life. Needed it. More than he'd really allowed himself to believe, now seeing it properly just as he was faced with having to give it up.

The expression _you don't know what you've got till it's gone_ was mocking him.

He should leave, Dean thought, full of sorrow. Not perhaps right at that moment; he'd had enough to drink for that not to be safe. But in the morning. He should go, maybe even slip away unannounced, leave Cas to his life without him. He should do that, for Cas.

Dean felt himself too selfish to be able to go through with that.

Maybe he should just keep quiet. Pretend he didn't feel this crushing pressure to say something, or force conversation. He could leave in the morning and thank Cas for his hospitality, say he hoped to see him again soon and just leave it all up to Cas to make a decision.

He didn't want to do that either.

***

Cas watched Dean quietly whilst he had this internal monologue; Dean's eyes might have been forward and intent on the screen, but Cas knew from the set of his jaw and the twitch at his brow that he was thinking. Over-thinking, most likely, if he knew Dean.

Cas felt that perhaps he did know Dean, and pretty well.

Cas too had been over-thinking all day long. There was a battle raging beneath his skin; one half still wanting to punish Dean for all that pain he'd gone through, and the other desperate to reach out and close the space between them in a way they'd never had before. It was tiring, and very confusing, this whirling of different feelings that left him light-headed and unsure of everything.

The clock ticked down for him too, all too aware that Dean would be leaving in a few hours, with no mention of what would come after. Cas knew with certainty that he wasn't ready to just up and leave his life here. He wasn't even sure that was what Dean would want now, now that he'd seen for himself what Cas' world was like. He needed what he had now, along with Dean fitting into it somehow.

It was the _somehow_ he needed clearing up, and soon.

“What are you thinking, Dean?” he asked, his voice dropping low.

Dean didn't pretend to be surprised by Cas' question. He dragged his eyes over to him with a carefully neutral look on his face. “A whole lot of things.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I'm not sure all of them are things you'd want to hear.” He smiled, eyes crinkling a little.

“Stop avoiding my question, Dean.” Cas was firm in his tone.

Dean pinched his lips together in a grim line. “Alright. But you've gotta share too, okay?”

“That is fair.” Cas bowed his head slightly in agreement.

“Alright. I'm thinking I've had a pretty great time here.” _With you_ might not have been said out loud, but the implication was obvious. “I'm thinking... I like seeing this side of you.” Dean smiled warmly then, trying to keep the sadness of the loss he felt out of it. “Relaxed, away from danger, doing your own thing.”

“Sometimes I miss hunting,” Cas said absently, his interrupting an unintentional reflex. He waved for Dean to carry on when he raised an eyebrow at him. “Not often. Just sometimes.”

Dean took an extra beat to pause, then continued, “I'm thinking...I'm thinking I could walk out of here and never come back, and your life would still be this. There'd be no hole in it if I left.” Dean's words, and the dejectedness in his voice when he spoke them, sharded glass into Cas' stomach.

“I think we both know that to be untrue.” Cas managed in quiet contradiction to him, holding back all of the protests he felt clawing out for freedom.

“No,” Dean shook his head. “Maybe once,” and his eyes grew dull at the truth he found in his own words. “But not now. Look at you,” and the gentle smile he gave seemed to Cas felt a heavy weight fixed on his chest.

Cas did indeed look at himself, not knowing where else to.

“You're doing great, Cas. You've got a great thing going here. I meant it when I said I was proud.”

Cas remained silent, eyes turned slightly away. “Not... ' _maybe once_ ', Dean.”

“Huh?”

“You said. ' _Maybe once_ '. Maybe once you'd have 'left a hole' were you not to be in my world. It isn't true. It isn't ' _once_ '.” Cas' pause was tense, and when he started up again his words were thickly laden with emotion. “It hasn't _stopped_.”

Dean leaned to the side to set his bottle on the small coffee table with an unsteady hand, and turned himself back around slightly further to face Cas directly. “But you said-”

Cas echoed Dean's movements and cut him off with a flick of his wrist. “I know what I said. All of it was true, Dean. That doesn't mean what I said just now isn't true either. My thoughts are very conflicted,” He finished, wincing as though his own thoughts caused him physical pain.

“Cas. Can I ask you a question?” Dean bit down on his lip, flitting his eyes away the moment that Cas raised his.

“Of course.”

“Before. When we... When. When we hunted...” his voice trailed away in frustration, and Dean growled at himself, wiping his palm across his face. “I suck at this,” he laughed harshly, clearing his throat and trying again. “Before I sent you away.” His voice grew bold, determined. “Before I royally fucked everything up,-”

“Dean-”

Dean raised a hand, preventing Cas' interruption. “When I did that. Before I did that. Was I mistaken? Was I... did I imagine it? Was I wrong?”

Cas felt his heart start up a loud, thready drumming. He knew what Dean was asking. But he needed him to be crystal clear. To be absolute.

“Wrong about what?”

And Dean saw that Cas understood, yet was still seeking more reassurance. He could understand that completely. “Did we...Could we...” and again Dean came to an uncomfortable halt, before huffing out, “...could we have been something?”

Cas continued to stare at him with an unreadable expression.

Dean sighed as though everything in him ached. Cas needed more from him, and he fought to give him all that he could.

“I used to think... maybe you cared about me. Not,” He hesitated, “The way maybe you care about Sam. Or your friends here. Although maybe you care about them differently,” And his voice drifted off with uncertainty then.

“Dean...” Cas pulled him back with urgency his voice, frightened that if he let Dean stray off on a tangent he'd never get the words out that he was so desperate to hear.

“Did you?” Dean's eyes were pleading. “Did you maybe want something more from me back then, than us just being what we were?”

Cas continued to stare, but Dean could see the torment plainly on his face. He blundered on with a rush of words.

“'cos I've gotta tell you. You made me feel things, Cas. Things I didn't ever think I wanted to feel. Or expect to. Or know what to do anything about.” Bravery straightened his spine then, and he squared his chest, defiant. “It isn't something that's gone away for me, either.”

Only then did Cas appear to accept the truth of Dean's words. He let out a single, long breath that went on forever, and took an age to raise his eyes to stare at Dean, as his fingers curled in on themselves against his lap.  

“I did feel something for you.” he murmured eventually, with the slightest of nods.

 _Did_ , Dean thought to himself, _past tense_ , and the pain of regret plunged through him like a poker.

“You did,” he repeated anyway, seeking confirmation.

“I did.”

Dean should be comforted. He knew he should. But he couldn't find relief, not now. Not knowing with absolute certainty what he had thrown away. There was no one word that could capture the sheer sense of anguish that he felt.

“I did,” Cas repeated firmly. “And it was the most...frustrating, exhilarating, confusing...crippling feeling.”

“It is,” Dean agreed heavily. “It really, really is.”

Cas closed his eyes and sat that way for what felt to Dean a long, long time.

“I think,” he started up out of nowhere, making Dean jump slightly in his seat. “I think that is why it was so painful for me. When I left. When-”

“When I made you leave,” Dean's voice was brittle, at danger of fracturing at all of his own doing.

“When I left. I thought...so many things. I thought perhaps you realised I wanted... and that you were sending me away because of it. Or that I was entirely wrong, and I had just become a burden. Or...” Cas shrugged, small and dejected. “I thought so many things, Dean.”

“I can't take it back,” Dean whispered, and Cas could see the force he was exerting on himself to appear calm.

“No. You can't. You can't take it back any more than I can stop...feeling this...confusion.”

“Can you maybe tell me what the confusion is about?”

“I want you to leave.”

Dean's face went completely still with shock, as though he had been physically slapped instead of verbally. Cas watched in horror, wincing at his own words, and his hand flew out towards Dean wanting to reassure him, or to pull the words back in.

Dean inched away from him, preparing to stand.

“No. Please allow me to finish, Dean. I did not intend to sound quite so harsh.”

For a moment he thought Dean would leave anyway, but after a pause, he watched him cup his chin in his hand and shakily lean an elbow onto his knee, waiting for Cas to continue.

“I want- wanted you to leave. Or not come here at all. I also wanted to see you so much when you left...before...that...” Cas paused for a second, and his next words came out in a rush. “I found myself looking at car rentals in the middle of the night and wondering what you'd say if I arrived at the bunker unannounced.” Cas paused again, watching Dean. “I wanted to never see you again, and also to never not to.”

It was Dean's turn to stay silent. Cas breathed out softly, exerting control, and continued. “I wanted to hurt you, as you had hurt me. But then I wanted to comfort you, and be comforted. And when I see that I have said something to upset you, part of me rejoices in victory whilst the other wants to just...reach for you.”

A dam had broken for Dean, but he remained as still as stone. Tears slipped slowly down his face, and Cas ached to reach over and wipe them away. But he didn't.

“I am so conflicted, Dean. Your friendship used to be so grounding.” Cas pressed a hand to his own chest, unthinkingly stirring his thumb against his sternum as though to give himself comfort that he didn't know he needed. “Even when I wanted more than I thought you would ever give me; more than I ever really understood. And you sit here now, and tell me... there was...” Cas' words tripped over themselves and came to an abrupt halt.

“I do not want to... I cannot go back to the life I used to live, Dean.” Cas' voice had grown whisper quiet.

Dean nodded tightly against his own palm. “I know.”

“And part of me thinks maybe it's for the best if you go, and I mourn – we both mourn, for the things we have lost – and move on.”

Steady tears continued to trickle freely down Dean's face unchecked. “And the other part?”

Cas breathed out, slow, and hard. “The other part is a mess,” he dryly laughed to himself, dropping his hand to his lap. “The other part wants to find some sort of...compromise... between my life now, and my life then. Or at least my life now, and still having you as a part of it. I don't know if it could be a friendship part, or a 'something else' part, or some other part entirely.” Cas drained his bottle of beer and clunked it heavily down on to the table with a wince.

“That's... that's a lot of parts, Cas,” Dean remarked thickly, aiming for humour but finding none.

“It is. Too many to try to deal with all at once. Especially at-” and Cas stopped to pull his phone out to check the time, huffing a little in realisation of how late it was. “late. It is late.”

“We should sleep.” Dean gave, knowing it wouldn't come for him.

“I don't think I could. Not yet.”

“We could pretend to watch the end of this movie,” Dean suggested with a nod towards the TV, and no single shred of interest.

Cas stood suddenly, crossing the room in seconds before returning with both of their jackets.

Dean wiped a hand over his face, looking up at Cas imploringly. “Cas. I _can't_. I can't go out right now. I'm wrecked,” and his voice cracked as though to prove his words as true.

Cas shook Dean's jacket at him again.

“Please.”

One word, and Dean was lost. He stood, shakily enough for Cas to offer out a steadying arm in case it was needed, then wrapped himself in his jacket and nodded to Cas.

Wordlessly Cas turned and left the apartment.

Dean followed him out, curiosity enough to dampen down the despair he was feeling as Cas climbed the stairs up from his apartment in what felt like a never-ending spiral. At the top they stood completely in darkness whilst Cas fumbled for a keyhole found by the minimal light of his phone.

They stepped out on to the building roof and the cold air rushed to greet them, forcing them to suck in a simultaneous breath.

Cas walked over to the edge and leaned his elbows at standing height on to the lip of concrete running around the entire building. Dean joined him wordlessly by his side.

“Sometimes I like to come up here,” Cas offered after a moment. “You can hear the noise of the town but feel separate enough to not have to try to understand it.”

The view was, Dean could agree, pretty impressive.

They stood silently watching the world beneath them for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Dean wanted to compare what he was feeling with being in the eye of a storm. But he had no idea what he'd have to endure next before he could think about trying to come out of the other side.

“Would it be unfair of me to ask you what you are thinking now, Dean?” Cas didn't turn to Dean when he spoke, his gaze still out and over the view below.

Dean felt too empty to give any kind of response. But there was the need to say something even if he was completely spent.

He settled for, “I'm thinking... when you started climbing those stairs I thought you were bringing me up here to stargaze.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas look down at his hands where they rested with a smile.

“You told me once that the only place to properly stargaze was from the hood of the Impala. I would not wish to break such tradition.”

Though they didn't confirm it, each of their thoughts instantly flew to an evening, what felt like a lifetime ago. With beer, and Sam, and silence, they had leaned back under a cloudless Kansas sky, eyes turned upwards.

Both felt a pang of loss when they came back to the present.

After a time, and with unspoken agreement, they trudged their way slowly back down to Cas' apartment.

Cas collected Dean's bedding from his room, dropping it softly onto the end of the couch. He stood, hands winding and unwinding together, as Dean dropped their now empty bottles into a small bag marked for recycling.

“I'm sure we have much more to say,” Cas said when Dean returned to the couch and stood at the other end opposite him.

Dean nodded in agreement. “Don't think I have the strength to keep going now though, Cas.”

“I agree. We should try to sleep.”

Dean silently made up his bed for the night whilst Cas used the bathroom, carefully tucking in the sheet and turning down the blankets.

Cas took a wide berth, avoiding the area where Dean stood on the way to his room, and Dean was too broken to be any more hurt by it. Instead, he rummaged through his bag for his pyjamas and toiletry bag, allowing the last few unshed tears to fall.

“Dean,” he heard softly from behind him.

Dean turned to look at Cas standing in the doorway of his bedroom, one hand resting against the frame.

“Yeah, Cas.”

Dean stood, stooped, waiting for Cas to speak.

Cas just watched him back. And then, he smiled. Wide and genuine, beaming warmth in Dean's direction.

Unsure what was expected in return, Dean smiled back.

Cas nodded, as though confirming something to himself, then softly closed the door.

Dean looked at the closed door for several minutes in utter confusion, before muttering critically to himself about stupidity, and getting ready for bed.

***

Morning had come too soon.

Both were visibly exhausted and bleary eyed, clutching on to their coffee cups like lifelines.

They were silent, and still. But the air between them was peaceful.

Dean didn't want to break that peace at all, but he had to leave, and soon; he'd promised Sam he'd be back by early afternoon at the latest. And the longer he stayed, the harder would be his leaving.

“So. We still got stuff to talk about, Cas?” Dean wasn't sure if sleep would have provided Cas with answers, or clarity, or even the sense to send him away permanently. He silently prayed for the latter not to be true.

Cas nodded in agreement. “I would say we do.”

Dean let out a breath; part relief, and part in loathing at the thought of fresh pain on an already open wound.

“But not today, I think. We are both too raw.”

Dean closed his eyes, and with a dull, numb tone he said, “Maybe we could Skype in the week?”

“I feel this kind of conversation is better face to face, Dean. There has been enough miscommunication between us, don't you agree?”

Dean cracked one eye open to look at Cas, holding his breath as he slowly opened the other. “I do. I do think.” He nodded as though to back up his words. “So...what do you suggest?”

Cas shrugged his shoulders, eyes carefully elsewhere. “I haven't made any plans for next weekend yet. You could come back and visit then. If you feel like it.”

Dean's heart started up its usual Cas-related thumping, and he dared, for a moment, to have hope. He looked over at Cas, and if he didn't know better, he would swear that Cas was holding his breath.

“Yeah, Cas. I feel like it. I really feel like it.” And a smile broke out on his face that Cas returned instantly and easily.

***

Dean checked through his bag one more time, making sure he had everything he'd brought with him. Even though he knew it was pointless, he found himself stalling. Nothing was going to be easy about this.

Cas was over by the sink, rinsing through their coffee cups and stacking them in the rack. Dean turned on his heel to watch him. He watched as Cas carefully dried his hands, studying his own fingers as though they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen. It gave Dean comfort to see Cas doing his best to prolong the inevitability too.

Dean turned back to zip up his bag, and in that short space of time Cas had silently walked up beside him.

Dean gave a quick jolt of surprise.

“Cas?” he asked, straightening up at the blank expression on Cas' face.

The blankness began to crumple, a slow trickle of a mixture of emotions throwing it into light and shade.

“Dean.”

Dean saw Cas' lower lip begin to tremble and his eyes grow bright, too bright, and he felt his own face doing the same.

Cas was the first to break, throwing himself heavily against Dean with a desperate gasp, and wrapping his arms tightly around him as though he wouldn't ever let him go. Dean gripped back just as hard, moaning Cas' name over and over into his hairline as he leaned down onto Cas' shoulder. Broken sobs racked through them both, and they held on like vices, unknowingly turning in the smallest of circles as they worked out their remaining tears.

Tears for the hurt they'd caused each other, tears for themselves, tears for all of the unknowns and unresolved things between them. There was no one answer either of them could give that would fix all that was between them, and yet the pain of parting dawned on them hard and harsher than the difficulty of being together.

Unfair, was the only way to describe it. Unfair, and heartbreaking, and utterly wounding.

They clung on, holding, and holding, and where time expected them to loosen their grip, it just became tighter, and more desperate, and harder to pull away.

The silence of the room was filled only with snuffles and raw hiccuping, long after their tears were completely spent.

When they finally stepped away from each other, they remained at arm's length.

Dean grinned messily then, chin tipping over to the bathroom, and Cas listened to him heavily blowing his nose. He brought back tissue for Cas to do the same, and they stared at each other through red eyes and watery smiles.

Again, too long passed before either of them moved.

Dean knew he had to go before a _linger_ turned into a _not leaving_. He hoisted his bag up on to his shoulder in one bounce, and headed for the door.

Cas followed closely behind, reaching out to turn the handle for him.

They stood in each other's breathing space once final time, not moving for another beat.

And then Cas stood back, unblocking Dean's path.

“Have a safe drive, Dean.”

“I'll see you soon, Cas.”

*** 


End file.
